ODE TO A CONCHUS MILLERI
By Peter Theobald
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All shell collectors tried and true,
will leave their mark behind
on shelves and sills, in boxes too.
‘Tis enough to blow your mind.
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Let’s trace these lowly specimens
from sea to Ellie’s nook,
and dwell perchance on regimens
from Doctor Abbott’s book.
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A thousand dollars worth of gear
will take you to their den,
and 30 days or so of training
will get you safely back again.
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What do you mean “the sea’s too rough”?
Don't mind the cold and rain!
A true collector’s really tough,
courageous, bold, (and insane).
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And now the rubber meets the road,
the hunter lashes out
to snatch that gem from its wet abode,
and turn him inside out.
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A “Deadus Conchus” is no sweat,
a little bleach and you’ve got it.
But “Casa Occupada” and you can bet
it takes three days to rot it.
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The smell, the goo, the desperate urge
to bury the whole damn mess,
before your gut decides to purge.
(My god what grave duress!)
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But isn’t it grand on Shell Show day
when all this misery pays off.
Head up; Stand tall; Ah that’s the way.
Be careful not to scoff.
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Your peers will surely vote your shell
the Conchologist Award it’s due.
What’s that? Oh fudge! Oh shoot! Oh well!
You’re a shell collector, tried and true.
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Written for my very dear friend and diving buddy
Eleanor Miller
1918 - 1993
Resting in peace on Horseshoe Reef